


The Power of Positive Thinking

by tisfan



Series: Good Omens Bingo [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Customer Service, M/M, angel!librarian, customer service is hell, rude patrons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 19:35:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19979386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Customer Service is not... entirely... Hell.But it is kinda hellish.





	The Power of Positive Thinking

**Author's Note:**

> For ineffable bingo, square: Library AU

Aziraphale, more commonly known to his human friends as Ezra Fell, and Mr. Fell to the library clientele, was binding a book back together. It wasn’t the delicate task, the way restoring an antique might be. This was a circulation copy that someone had gotten a little too enthusiastic about, but a simple bind and tape job. Some of Aziraphale’s colleagues were just as apt to slap duct tape on the back and re-affix the circulation sticker and call it a win.

Aziraphale was a little more particular than that, preferring to make sure the book was a well kept as possible. Bent pages and broken spines might indicate love for a book that resided on one’s own shelf, but the library copy shouldn’t look like someone dragged it through the mud. Why, the front cover was barely hanging on by a thread!

Fortunately, he owned an exacto knife, and while flaming swords were what he’d trained in, he knew his way around a pen blade or two.

“Excuse me,” someone said from behind him. More polite in words than tone. “I’m looking for a book.”

Aziraphale put on his best smile. “How fortunate for you that you happen to be in a library.” He carefully removed the spine, preserving it for the rebinding. It was a little cracked here and there, but an extra dab of glue would do the trick.

“The er… person at the front desk said you would help me,” the man continued on. “Mr. Bub?”

Beelzebub. Well, they were all but useless in the stacks anyway. “They did, did they? Well, if you’ll wait just two shakes of a lamb’s tail, this is a tricky bit of--”

“I’m looking for a specific book,” the man said, talking over Aziraphale. He no longer wondered that Beelzebub had sent the gentleman back to Aziraphale. He only marveled that they hadn’t bitten his head off and spat it down the stairs. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

“Oh, perhaps I can be of some assistance,” Aziraphale said. “Wonderful thing, card catalogs. What’s the title?”

“Don’t know,” the guy said. “It had a green cover.”

“That extends to an extraordinary number of books. I’m afraid you’ll have to be rather more specific. Author?”

“Who cares? It’s not like he was important.”

“Well, what was it about?”

“I haven’t read it,” the man said, sounding offended. “That’s why I’m looking for it. Friend recommended it.”

“Astonishing that they didn’t offer to lend it to you,” Aziraphale said. “Do you, in fact, remember anything about it that might assist in locating the book?”

“It was green. Think the first word of the title was _The_. Michael recommended it to me.”

“You’re too kind,” Aziraphale said. Right. Minor miracle time. He took a breath, touched his temple. “Ah… I think I have it for you, sir. _The Power of Positive Thinking_. This way.” He patted the book being repaired. _You stay right there, please._

He led the man into the self-help section and pulled the book down from the shelf, offering it to him. It was not, Aziraphale noted, green. In fact, it was quite a disturbing shade of orange, with yellow swirls.

The man in the white suit glanced at the book. “Oh, well, yes, that’s…” He whipped out his phone and took a picture of the cover, turned around as if to walk away.

“Sir, your book?”

“Oh, don’t be stupid,” the man said. “I’m Gabriel, I don’t read books. I certainly don’t borrow them from dingy little libraries. I’ll order it on Amazon and put it on the shelf.”

And he left without saying thank you or anything.

“Well, he doesn’t need you, does he, dear?” Aziraphale said to the book and put it back on the shelf. “I’m quite positive that he was an arsehole.”

Well, if nothing else, it would make a fine story to tell Crowley when he got home from work. No doubt, Crowley, who worked in the nursery just down the block, would have several grand stories of his own. Customer service might not have been Hell, exactly, but sometimes, it was close. 


End file.
